So DrH and I were walking the dog last night on his final nighttime round of peeing on every upright structure - and in a city like Berlin there are many, not the least of which are buildings, post boxes, signposts, bicycles and random bags of clothes which for some reason seem to populate our neighbourhood at the moment. So the evening walks tend to be a somewhat relaxed affair involving Leon Dog Wonder pulling desperately at the leash to reach the one small shrub or plastic wrapper he hasn't gleefully urinated on yet today and us holding stoically to the other end, shivering in the midnight cold and wishing desperately WE'D remembered to visit the lavatory before walking out the door.
Why does the cold always make you want to pee?
Anyway, last night we turned into our street at the corner where the mad, old, hat-wearing, cat-on-a-leash-walking, lets-leave-food-out-for-rats woman keeps her personal cat refuge in a few bushes. This cat refuge, by the way, comprises a cardboard box, a small foil package of cheap catfood which is changed regularly every three days, and a small dish of water. The rats love it. But on this occasion, rather than the swiftly vanishing naked rats tail, poking out of the garden bed was a pair of legs.
I called DrH over and, with much trepidation, shook the gentleman's knee and asked him if he was okay. It took a few tries, during which time my conviction that he'd departed escalated, but eventually he woke up enough to say "S'ok, I'm drunk." Only more slurred. And in german, of course.
By the time we'd got him upright, he'd worked out that he had in fact been walking his two dogs when he decided to pass out with his head uncomfortably jammed under the branch of a struggling spruce, and had no idea where they were now. So, DrH on one side, me on the other, we slowly stumbled down the street at 1am calling for dogs named Anja and Pinky.
Pinky. I kid you not.
Finally at his apartment door, the dogs barking on the inside having obviously found their own way home (perhaps having had previous practice), we left him to the gentle and nurturing arms of his wife.
"Look at you! Strangers had to bring you home! You filthy pig!"